Autumn Dreams Do Come True
by Charity1
Summary: Mia's pregnant with Micheal's child, but is forced to marry a Prince. Now, eighteen years later, their son tries to bring them back together. (Chapter Two)
1. Mia's destruction

Authors Notes: So there I was, sitting here, reading all the TPD fan fiction, when it dawned on me-- Not one of them was about Mia's _son_ (Sorry if there is and I missed it) People, it's fifty-fifty chance that it could be either. A girl _or_ a boy. Why do you all the sudden assume it would be a girl? So, here it is. My thoughts of her son. 

Oh. I know it's not in diary form, but let's face it-- A guy wouldn't write a diary. And plus, I'm not good at writing in diary form.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from TDP. I wish I did, but I don't. But hey, don't we _all_ wish we could write like Meg Cabot? Oooof course. 

**This whole story is dedicated to my good friend Sarah, who's the most talkative person I have ever known.

From, me.

== 

****

Title: Autumn Dreams Do Come True

Author: Charity

Rating: G

Genre: Romance

==

"M-marry him?"

"Yes, it has to be done."

Mia's heart dropped to her stomach as her insides threatened to come up through her mouth. '_Marry him?'_ She thought in terror. Tears filled the inside of her eyes and spilled over the edges. Her knees collapsed on her, making her stumble forward a bit. "But…I couldn't…" All the words that came to mind flew out her ears as shock took over. 

Her tear stricken eyes followed her Grandmother as she paced around the room. "No 'buts' about it, young lady. You have gotten yourself in this mess, now I will get you out." 

Mia opened her mouth to say something but then snapped it shut to the stern look on the other women's face. Her eyes then dropped to her stomach. A troubled look crossed over her face as she laid a hand on her stomach. Her teeth came out to chew worriedly on her bottom lip.

Her Grandmother stopped and placed her hands on Mia's shoulders. "Oh honey. You know this is the best way to go." Mia's eyes filled with more tears, and as she shook her head the soft dews spilled down her checks. The other women shook her with such a force, that Mia almost lost her balance. "If you hadn't gone and got pregnant by that…!" The words trailed off at the appalled look on her face. 

Then it happened. Mia's heart broke into a million different pieces. '_This isn't happening…'_ Her mind told herself over and over again. _'Please God, don't let this happen!' _But it was happening. And there was nothing Mia could do about it. She had to try!

"Grandmere…I don't…love…." Mia stumbled over her words. She suddenly felt like a two-year-old pleading with her mom to let her have a cookie.

Her grandmother 'shushed' her with a stern look. "Love? Ha! Marriage is not about _love_! It's about holding our country together! And only a Prince can do that." She let go of Mia and turned to walk away, the _click clink_ of her high heels on the marble floor sounding like a death sentence. When she reached the door she turned. "Your father and I will deal with the boy." Then she left. 

Mia's tears suddenly went full-fledged into sobs. Her hands gripped her heart as she silently slid down the wall and onto the floor. _'Oh God!'_ her mind screamed. _'Michael! Please forgive me!'_

== 

__

Eighteen Years Later…

Oliver gently ran his hand over the railing, letting the wood slid under his fingertips like a cloud. A chandelier above him caught the sun and sparkled around the room, making rainbows on the rose painted walls. His green eyes were drawn to one of the rainbows. He watched it skitter up and down the wall, then through the window. A dim fist of wanting to be able to be as free as that light caught in his stomach. A soft sigh escaped his lips as his eyes scanned the area around him. One word came to mind:

Dull.

This palace, this castle- this _prison_ was definitely getting to him. He felt like he was trapped inside a bubble and couldn't get out. It was like suffocating to death in front of a room full of people, and not a soul getting up to help. 

Oliver lifted his hand to swipe a stray piece of brown hair out of his eyes. He had never asked to be Royal. No one was there when he was born to say 'Hey, Oliver. So you got a choice, Royal or No?' because he would have said no. Absolutely, it would have been a no. 

He went past the dinning room full of plates from Egypt and Asia, full of chairs bought in France and Italy, where sat the table that had been bought in England. To the elaborate living room where pictures of his mom and dad when they were younger and pictures of him filled the walls. He plopped down in one of the Victorian chairs and stretched his legs, plating them on the glass coffee table and looked at all the photographs. 

It stuck him odd that in most of the pictures with his parents, his mother wasn't smiling. She seemed to have a far away look that almost resembled longing. So, maybe she did understand. 

It wasn't that he didn't love his family. Sure he did, everyone did. It was just, they didn't let him have freedom. He was to stay inside the palace unless he was to go to school, or to a friend's house. 

Not that he _had_ any friends. 

Oliver leaned his head back on the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling. 

Who would want to be friends with the rich boy? The boy who was basically followed around wherever he went, no matter how hard he tried not to be? The boy who's house is bigger than the school times twenty? 

Oliver sighed again. 

It just wasn't fair. He tried to be an individual, but his mother smothered him. It was like she didn't want him to go away, afraid he would leave. He wouldn't leave though, why didn't she understand that? He just wanted to actually have a life.

His green eyes sifted to the window. He stared out at the hills that seemed to go on forever. Out at the river that wound it's way down and across the property that stretched for miles. His eyes roamed the bright full-grown trees, that were now brown and orange from the autumn wind, that littered the shoreline like a fence outside a cottage. He loathed it all.

His mother said it was because of what happened to her when she was young. The people of her town had found out she was a Princess and made a fool out of her. She told him that she didn't want that to happen to him. But they already knew! Everyone knew he was a Prince. 

He didn't understand why she kept him at such a close distance. He knew that she thought he would leave. His father had told him that numerous times, but he didn't know _why_ she thought that. Never in his life had he done something to provoke this panic into her mind. His father told him that someone she had loved a long time ago had left. Mother? Grandmother? He did know his great Grandmother, and his Grandfather. That was all he knew.

Perhaps it was-

"Oliver Dunstorm! Get those feet off that table!"

Oliver jumped at the sound of her voice and quickly removed his feet, planting them firmly on the ground. His face lit into a smile seeing her. She looked simply lovely in her cream green pants, and soft white sweater. 

"Do you happen to know how much that cost your father?" His mother brushed into the room, a concentrated look on her face. She eyed him out of the corner of her eye, making sure he did as she said. Seeing that he did, she gave him a small smile. 

"Hey mom." Oliver sat forward in his seat and glanced down the hall that she had come from, then back. 

His mother sighed softly from looking at him, then glided his way. "Oh, Oliver." Her eyes traveled down his body, her mouth made her annoyed _tsk _sound. "What are you wearing?" She reached out with her hand, her fingers grasping his blue shirt. "Didn't you see the outfit I set out for you on your bed?"

Oliver resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His head nodded on it's own accord. "Yes, but I didn't-"

"Never mind dear, it doesn't matter." She was looking down at her desk and moving around it as if looking for something. "Sweet Heart, do me a favor, will you?" She puckered her lips and brought her finger to them, glancing around the room. 

Oliver removed himself from the chair and stood his full length. His head flicked quickly to the side so that his bangs would move out of his eyes. He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heals. "Anything."

Her head turned to the side, and then she crouched to look under the desk. "Go…" She stood and looked through a couple drawers before continuing. "…Ask your father if he has seen my files." 

Oliver nodded. 

He turned on his heal and strode out of the room. 

His father.

When he was around his father it was like he didn't belong. Oliver always got this strange feeling inside his stomach when his father asked him to do something. He couldn't explain it, it was almost as if his father wasn't part of him. 

His shoes clicked on the marble floor, and all too soon he stopped at his father's office door.

Knock.

There was a loud _thump_, followed by a curse. Oliver strained to hear, but he thought he could make out two people whispering. Then the door flew open and his father appeared. 

He looked angry.

"Yes?" His eyes had a touch of red to them, and his mustache twitched, showing off his chubby cheeks. His enormous body filled the doorway.

Oliver felt his stomach fall out of his stomach. "Uh…"

His father rolled his eyes at him. "Don't just stand there all day looking ignorant. Get on with it."

Oliver clenched his jaw and stared narrowly at his father. "Mom wants to know where her "files" are."

His father shrugged then turned to shut the door, but spoke before totally shutting it. "Look in the attic." 

Oliver sighed as he started at the now closed door. 

The attic.

He then made his way up to the top of the house, going down hundred's of red carpeted halls, and tons of high vaulted ceilings that loomed over him ominously. His feet aching after the twenty staircases. 

When Oliver reached the attic door he took a deep breath. It scared him to death. His father used to lock him in there when he was barely old enough to read. His mother's pleas echoed in his mind.

He shook his head roughly, then laid his hand gently on the door and pushed it open, only to reveal loads of dusk and trunks. 

_Great_, he thought._ Just Great._

His eyes swept across the room. Green trunks, red trunks, endless piles of books, and dusty crowns. 

_Files._

Ah.

He walked toward them, but stopped dead in his tracks. 


	2. Oliver's discovery

Authors Notes: Ah ha, here's the second chapter. It _would_ have taken a lot longer to come out with, but _Sarah_ had to keep bugging and _bugging_ till I wrote the darn thing! Hehe, kidding, don't freak out! I was kidding. Anyway, here's the chapter, hope you like it!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Meg Cabot, a long with the idea. _BUT_ Oliver, his cousin, and his father, belong to _ME._ That's right, ME. Got it? Hehe. Yes, I think you do. Just…ASK if you want to use them. ASK, not TAKE.

To, Sarah

From, me

==

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Ending of last chapter:

When Oliver reached the attic door he took a deep breath. It scared him to death. His father used to lock him in there when he was barely old enough to read. His mother's pleas echoed in his mind.

He shook his head roughly, then laid his hand gently on the door and pushed it open, only to reveal loads of dust and trunks. 

_Great_, he thought._ Just Great._

His eyes swept across the room. Green trunks, red trunks, endless piles of books, and dusty crowns. 

_Files._

Ah.

He walked toward them, but stopped dead in his tracks

==

Oliver took a step toward the object of his gaze. _What the?_ His green eyes roamed the trunk, his breath catching. He read the name imprinted onto the gold in fine sprawled letters, twisting and turning up and down like a dance. Something buzzed in the back of his mind, as his knees became weak, threatening to collapse from underneath him.

_Michael Moscovitz._

His bushy brown eyebrows came together in confusion. Where had he heard that name? There was a nagging voice in his head that made him fidget from side to side. He glanced back down at the trunk, light exploding in front of his eyes.

==

__

Ten years earlier…

Young Oliver's fingers were currently occupied around a small army figure. He moved his pudgy hand back and forth across his desk; his mouth whispering commands spoken from the other army figure perched just above his head. Mommy and daddy were in the room next to him, talking about grown up things- things too import for Oliver to know about. 

He smiled innocently at his toys, their fake affection and happiness surrounding him in a cocoon of love. They were all he had- all he wanted. He shrugged his tiny shoulders and continued in his drill. 

A loud slam and a muffled bad-word interrupted his thoughts. Oliver lifted his too-big head, his eyes filling with turmoil. Was that mommy screaming? He unclenched his fingers, his toy soldier falling swiftly to the desk, a small clatter resulting. Mommy? He uprighted himself, his brown hair falling into his eyes. What was wrong with her? 

His chubby legs carried him quickly to the office door. He placed his ear up to the cherry wood door, and listened with growing interest. 

"No, James, I will not!" Mommy shouted at daddy. "I will not do that to Oliver."

Oliver heard a soft chuckle. "Oh but dear, I have said so. And you will." Mommy choked and gasped in air. 

Oliver leaned in closer. The door cracked slightly and he jumped back, afraid he had been discovered doing something terrible. 

"I can't James…I just can't…" Oliver's innocent heart sank as he heard the despair in his mommy's voice. What did daddy want her to do to him? "Isn't it enough that I married you? Must I be your slave as well?" 

Daddy sighed. "Mia, why do you insist on defying me? Weren't you taught of a man's control over a women from your grandmother?"

Mommy starting crying. "This is about him, isn't it?" Daddy's voice was soft and shallow.

She paused for a second before answering. "Who?"

"_Him._ Michael. _Michael Moscovitz." _

==

Oliver's heart contracted. Who was Michael Moscovitz and how did his mother know him? He dropped to his knees in front of the trunk. His hands raised and landed on the soft surface of the trunk, his teeth coming out to gnaw on his bottom lip. 

There was a soft thudding in his chest as he prepared to open the trunk. _Oliver, you wimp, _He thought to himself. _Just _open_ it. _

The tip of his fingers gently ran across the engraved name. A shock sprouted from them to the middle of his being. _This is crazy_, his mind scolded. _Just _do_ it for heaven's sake! _

A deep breath of air was thrown into his lungs as he fingers grasped the dull end of the trunk and threw it open. A great wave of dust flew into his eyes, making him cough and coke. He waved his hand in front of his face, his other hand wiping at his eyes as he leaned over it. 

His breath stopped.

_What the hell?_

There were pictures, many pictures. 

Oliver slowly lowered his hand into the trunk and picked up a picture. His tanned fingers brushed across it, sending a waterfall of forgotten dust sliding to the floor. His eyes squinted as he looked at the photograph. 

It was a young girl and a boy. The boy's arm was thrown around the girl's shoulder and he was leaned in close, kissing her ear. Oliver guessed that the boy was Michael, considering this was his trunk, but the girl? Who was the girl? His eyes raked over her form: slightly to skinny for her tall frame, eyes wide and innocent, hair cut short and sort of in… _A yield sign? _Oliver laughed at himself, but then stopped as his gaze caught hold of her smile. Soft, warm, loving. The left curve of her lips was drawn up slightly more than the other side. He knew this smile, oh he knew it. 

His mother.

_His_ mother.

_His mother!_

He resisted the urge to throw the picture back into the trunk and run. His hands were shaking as he plucked another picture. It was them again: Michael and his mother, but this time they were kissing. Her arms were twisted around his neck and he hands rested gently on her hips. 

_This is crazy,_ Oliver thought. _Who was this man? A past lover? _A slightly disturbed shiver ran through him as he thought of his mother having lovers. _Gross. _He shook his head and went back to the subject at hand. _But what does this all mean? Does she still love him? _

Oliver's past thoughts took hold on his mind. It did make sense: Every time his father was around, his mother stiffened and got that distant, longing look on her face. She never talked to him on her own will: He was always calling _her_ into his office. So, if she still loved this Michael fellow, why did she marry his father? _If _I_ was a girl, _I_ sure wouldn't marry him. _

The corner of his mouth twisted up in a small smile as he picked up another picture. _This guy doesn't look so bad_. He had a nice smile, telling the world that he obviously loved life, _and_ this woman. The tip of his finger traced over the picture as his gaze moved to his mother. His smile faltered. There were small circles of wet drops on the paper, scattered about. 

Tears.

His mother had cried over this picture. 

He shook his head and threw the picture back in to the trunk, then slammed it shut. He was going to find out who this Michael character was, and demand why he hurt his mother. 

==

Oliver's feet took him swiftly down the halls of his home, his fingers grasping the files for his mother. Why had his mother cried over that picture? If she loved him so much, why did she marry his father? Unless he had died. A shot of fear ran through him. Had he died? Had he died and left his mother all alone. Or, left her?

Another shot ran through him, but this time one of hatred. 

_It doesn't make sense._

He sighed and turned a corner, stepping past the kitchen. At that moment, all his thoughts and concerns flew out the window as the most wonderful smell filled his nostrils. He took back his steps and pivoted into the kitchen. 

_Mmm.._

His eyes scanned for the source; Miranda. He walked towards her, a bright smile bestowed upon his face. 

"Good evening, Miranda."

She turned and smiled. "Good even'in, Ol'ver! Would you like…Get yer hand's off those there cook'es! Ol'ver!" She smacked his hand away from the cookies.

Oliver faked a pout. "Just one?"

"Not ev'n one you li'le mooch!" She turned him around and pushed him in the opposite direction, bellowing at him not to touch a thing till dinner. 

Oliver laughed and walked out of the room, his stomach rumbling. He went through the door to the other part of the kitchen. He smiled and reached for the refrigerator door handle, but realized he had forgotten his files, and turned to get them. 

But smacked straight into a soft form. "Ahhh!!" He screamed as he lost his balance and fell flat on his butt, wincing. 

"Oh!" Came a shrieked reply from the other being. Oliver lifted his head and parted his lips to give a quick "Sorry" but froze. His eyes made first contact with the bluest, deepest eyes he had ever seen, A cute button nose, and full, pink lips. His heart stopped beating in his chest as the girl glared at him, her mouth moving in harsh words, deaf against his ears. 

He shook his head trying to understand her words, but failed as his eyes continued to roam her. "I…" He heard her say, but stopped listening. Her hair; it was beautiful. It was brown and curly, coming to about her shoulders. Her shoulders were small and bony, sliding down to the slimmest waist he had even seen, then flared out to perfect hips, and long legs that went on forever. 

He felt wrong just staring at her like this, but he couldn't stop! His blood was rushing in his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. She was beautiful. Oliver couldn't think of someone he had seen this beautiful. It was like she was a gift from God. Gorgeous to the-

"…Cousin." 

Oliver was thrown harshly out of his trance as his eyes flew to hers. _Cousin?_ He went stiff and scooted back. "Excuse me?"

She smiled that radiant smile and nodded her head, her anger obviously forgotten. Her curls bobbing on her shoulders as her head shook. "That's right, I'm your cousin." She leaned down and offered him her hand. His hand lifted automatically and gripped hers. She pulled him off the ground, and smiled at him. "Sorry." 

He shrugged his shoulders, appalled at himself. "No problem…" he said slowly, as he turned to the refrigerator. He opened it and leaned down to look inside, stealing glances at the girl. "Would you like something to…Wait a minute!" He shot up straight, banging his head on the top and cursing under his breath. He glared at her, "I don't _have_ a cousin!"

"Yes, you do." She walked past him and took a peach out of the refrigerator. The peach looked bright in comparison to her small, creamy hands. She brought it to her lips and bit down on it, tilting her head to the side as she chewed. "And I'm it." She turned and walked out of the room. 

__


End file.
